Between Spring and Summer
by snowxflower
Summary: Back then, she thought she knew everything about him to the point that it was almost arrogant of her. She assumed that, because he was her husband and because of everything they had been through together, she knew the thoughts that went through his head. She thought she knew his entire universe, well enough to draw you a detailed map of it. Turns out she didn't.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Inuyasha.

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**Between Spring and Summer**

_snowxflower_

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Back then, she thought she knew everything about him to the point that it was almost arrogant of her. She assumed that, because he was her husband and because of everything they had been through together, she knew the thoughts that went through his head. She thought she knew his entire universe, well enough to draw you a detailed map of it.

Turns out she didn't.

Now, she lies awake at the break of dawn. It gradually became easier for her to wake so early. During the days when she was young and innocent, when her life was care- and worry-free, she wouldn't have even been able to fathom the thought of getting up so soon. However, her new lifestyle didn't allow her to sleep in. It was only one of the sacrifices she'd made for this life, for this time.

She stares up at the ceiling, wondering what her life would have been like had she made the other choice. Would she have been happier? She often thought about whether or not her decision to leave behind everything she'd ever known was the right one, especially since everything she worked for seemed to have been in vein now.

Her futon is soft and warm, making it difficult to get up even though it was now April. It had been a cold and harsh winter; spring didn't seem to want to come. Signs of winter lingers, making it seem like the cold would never go away. Even so, she rolls over and stares out the wide window she had left open overnight. He had always done the same thing, telling her arrogantly that even if something did come by while they were asleep he'd wake up soon enough to find out what it was and destroy the threat if necessary. She almost smiles at the memory. Almost.

The enormous cherry blossom tree in their yard stands almost mockingly before her, its branches snaking out towards the sky. She wishes she were strong enough to take it down. Everything it symbolized made her sick.

Deciding she had had enough, she kicks off her covers, shivering at the sudden cold that glides over her, and gets up to make breakfast.

As she does, she thinks about leaving this house. It's one that she's known and loved since she first returned five years ago. It was one that he had built for her while she was away; he told her it was the only consolation he allowed himself. The thought of building a home for the two of them distracted him from the thought that he might never see her again. It was a grand romantic gesture she had never expected from him. Now, however, staying here was taking its toll on her. But where would she go? The fear of the unknown is the only reason why she hasn't left. She tries not to think about the fact that the bitterness and the anger is about to drive her insane. While she chops the vegetables for her stew, a recipe she has perfected over the years, the memories flood back to her.

He used to sneak up behind her while she was cooking. She had always warned him that it was a dangerous prank, but he found it absolutely hilarious because she fell for it every single time. Careful of his claws, he'd rub his fingers into her sides causing a small shriek, followed by laughter, to bubble from her lips. When she fought against him, he'd knock the wooden spoon out of her hands and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her to the floor beneath them as her laughter filled the room. He'd smother her with kisses and then they'd just lie there for a few moments in each other's arms.

Now, she sits alone at the table. She has made too much food, as usual. She's still not used to cooking only for herself. Lifting her chopsticks to her lips, she eats slowly, trying not to remember anything else about him. But she realizes that he was her whole world…

…which is why she's angry at him for not sticking around.

Perhaps she should have known. Back in her own time, she had always heard about soldiers who had suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder. Men, once happy and blissfully unaware, came home from war ghosts of who they used to be. They had seen things most shouldn't have seen, forced to make decisions that no man should ever make. And what made him different from those soldiers? He had returned from a war too, one that spanned over 500 years… one that took him centuries to win. The cost of winning was the loss of countless loved ones, friends, and time—so much time.

She had often returned to their room at night to see him staring out that huge window, with a look on his face that she couldn't fathom. She had no doubt he loved her; it wasn't that she was worried about. It was the guilt he had faced from letting the people he cared about die, it was the sorrow he felt for not being able to stop Naraku sooner, and it was the regret that his mother and father would never see him become a parent. He still had nightmares from when he first lost touch with his demon blood and killed an entire village of humans. He'd wake in a cold sweat and reach out for her in the darkness, perhaps to reassure himself that she was still alive and he hadn't killed her in some unfortunate twist of events.

"I've almost killed you several times," he'd said when she reminded him he could never hurt her. She didn't know what to say in response, because it was true.

She knew that he was a tormented soul, despite the mask he put on during the day. To others, they were a happy couple and in most ways they were. She just refused to acknowledge that her return and presence wasn't enough to make him completely happy… that it wasn't enough to erase all of the ugly memories of their journey. It was rather selfish of her to think that, just like her world revolved around him, that it would be the same for him as well. She did try to talk about it several times, but each time he would silence her with a kiss or a gentle embrace. He had never been one to talk about his feelings.

Not even in her worst nightmares could she have predicted what happened next. He began a downward spiral into oblivion that she couldn't stop. One day, she found him in a heap on the ground just outside their home. He was covered in so much blood, she could smell it, even with her human nose, from a foot away. The demon he faced could have been easily defeated, yet he didn't fight back until the very end—until just before he was about to pass out from losing so much blood.

He recovered quickly, but his destructive attitude was not lost on her. She'd walk into the yard and find his fists bloody from punching the rough bark of the large cherry blossom tree, hard enough to draw blood but not hard enough to bring the damn thing down. She had returned to the house after a long trip with Sango, only to find him wasting away in their bedroom after spending weeks not eating anything. It was the reason why they put off having children; it is the reason why she is alone today.

Despite not wanting to leave him, she had to return to Kaede's village for more priestess training. He assured her he was fine, but it was his human night and she had been especially uneasy. She wasn't going to leave, but he had forced her out of the house and told her he'd be waiting for her when she returned.

He lied.

What was waiting for her instead was what kept her up at night for weeks; it was what made her hate the house she still lived in, what made her despise that cherry blossom tree in their yard, and what made her so furious at him despite the fact that he was no longer with her.

She had bounced into the house, expecting him to be sitting there in the kitchen waiting for her. Instead she was greeted with emptiness, causing her to roam their large home in search of him. The window in their bedroom was wide open, as usual. The cherry blossoms were in full bloom, the petals falling prettily in the gentle wind. Still, that wasn't what she was looking at.

From one of the larger branches hung her husband, in all his human glory, his eyes closed, his black hair swaying in the wind of the bright spring morning.

She blinks her eyes several times to get the image out of her head. She stares down at her half-eaten breakfast, suddenly losing her appetite. Anger bubbles at the pit of her stomach all over again.

_That fucking bastard_.

She pushes herself away from the dining table, knocking over her chair in the process. Marching over to that obnoxious tree, she grabs for the axe resting near a forgotten pile of firewood. The first thing she notices is that the axe is heavier than she thought it would be. The next thing she notices is that it is still easier than she thought to lift the thing over her head and swing. Blind with rage, she swings the axe over and over again, barely making a scratch in the bark. If he were alive to see this, he'd make some offhand remark about her weak human arms.

"Fuck you," she mumbles, cursing for the first time in her life. "You son of a bitch!" She spits out through clenched teeth. Did he even realize what he was doing as he was doing it? She almost laughed at the thought, because, think about it, the Almighty Inuyasha committing suicide? It was just unthinkable. He had been so cocky and so arrogant the day they met, and every single day after that, and before their marriage; nobody ever saw it coming.

After all they had been through, he decided to leave her behind without even so much as a note. The thought makes her angrier as she abandons the axe and proceeds to punch and kick at the tree, wanting so much for it to burn to ashes or tumble to the ground with an angry _crash_. She fights back angry tears, wondering how the Inuyasha she knew and loved turned into such a weak and scared little boy. She wonders how the strong and brave warrior she knew could have made the selfish decision to take his own life, knowing of the sacrifices she'd made to be with him. And suddenly, she realizes it isn't anger at the pit of her stomach. Sorrow. An old friend she hadn't met since she discovered the well had sealed.

She falls to her knees at the place where she had found her husband, crying tears of unbridled grief. It was a luxury she hadn't allowed herself since he died over almost a year ago. She had convinced herself she was too angry to even mourn over his death. She couldn't come to terms that instead of being angry, she was just too afraid to let herself shed a single tear. Her pride was wounded, but underneath it all her heart hurt even more. She had been hurt by him before. Upon her return, he had promised never to do it again. She believed him with everything she was worth.

Above her, the cherry blossoms continue to fall.

* * *

_A year later._

Her hair is short. In the past, she never understood the logic behind cutting one's hair off after experiencing heartbreak, but now she knows it feels kind of like a rebirth of sorts. When she catches her own reflection in a shiny surface or the sparkle of a river, she sees someone different than she's used to. She's no longer the same woman she was a year ago.

She still stays in that house. Perhaps because she was never really angry enough to want to leave, she had only convinced herself so. She wants the memories to stay alive, not of when he began to deteriorate, but of the times they had laughed and kissed and made love under the moonlight. She wants to remember all of the times they just lay on that kitchen floor, in a tangled heap of arms and legs, staring into each other's eyes silently. She wants to remember their wedding night, when he had been so nervous he could barely look at her and had freaked out when she began taking off her kimono. She wants to remember the times they talked about starting a family and the dreamy look he would get when he thought she wasn't looking, when he thought about having a son, whom he would teach how to hunt, or a daughter, whom he would spoil beyond belief. She wants to remember the times they fought, because it always led to an adorably clumsy attempt—on his part—to win her back, which he always did. She wants to remember that this place, as long ago as it was, used to be a house of love and not a house of heartache.

She eats her breakfast, finishing it this time, before heading out the door. Today, she makes a trip to the neighbouring village to visit her friends. She misses the children, twin girls and a boy, who always shout out her name with glee when she appears at their door. She wonders whether or not she would have made a good mother. The image of him as a father was one that she wanted to see more than anything else. She misses Rin, who has grown into a fine young woman. She even misses Sesshomaru, with his glares and empty threats to slice her throat open if she calls him _brother-in-law_ one more time.

Resting a hand on the doorframe as she leans down to put on her shoes properly, her short, shoulder-length hair falls in her face slightly. As she lifts a hand to tuck the loose strands behind her ear, something catches her eye. She turns, looking past the open door of the bedroom and glances out the window.

The tree is gone. Shippo had offered to do her a favour and take it down. She gracefully accepted, considering her mental and emotional breakdown a year ago. She had watched as her adopted son, now a grown man and full-fledged demon, yank it harshly out of the ground so easily. It had left a huge patch of brown; it would take some time for the grass to regrow. Still, she didn't like seeing it so empty. In the tree's usual place instead is a tiny green sprout, trying its hardest to reach as tall as its predecessor.

Finally, for the first time in years, Kagome allows herself a smile.

— END —

**Notes:** I don't really know where this came from, but I always read stories where it was Kagome who had died before Inuyasha did. I thought I'd mix it up a bit and write it from the opposite point of view. It's kind of OOC, but grief does funny things to even the most predictable of humans. I hope you all enjoyed it! Constructive criticism is welcomed.


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